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. "I did manage to learn a little of what Father
thought most important - weaponry." The farmer
crouched, as immobile as a rock, and waited for his broth-
er's command.
"Another few seconds," Flint said, his voice taut. He saw
the target, standing motionless in the path of the charge.
The derro swept closer. "Wait a minute... wait..."
Now, shoot!
With a sharp crack, the crossbow released its steel-headed
shaft. The missile flashed into the night, then was lost in the
darkness.
But in the next instant a sharply defined cloud - a billow
of smoke that was so dark it showed clearly against the
moderate blackness of the night - erupted from the clay jar.
"Nice shot!" shouted Flint, clapping his brother on the
back. Ruberik paid no attention, already concentrating on
the laborious recocking of his powerful weapon. He loaded
another shaft, sweat popping from his brow as he quickly
turned the powerful crank.
Flint growled, unconsciously voicing his delight, as the
sludge smoke spread across the field. He saw the rank of the
derro split and waver as the dwarves stumbled away from
the noxious fumes
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